Menu Home

September 1st. Happy tail.

Blood is Pouring from the Tail of the Moral Dog, in a Steady Stream. He lies weakly on his Cushion watching the Owner Rushing Around at the Sight of It as the Life Ebbs from him.

Oh for Goodness Sake, says the Owner, producing a Cold Cloth.

At Last, I say. You are going to save me, I say. Apply it Firmly, I say, Like a Tourniquet, I say. I will try to Hold On, I say. But I have Chosen Hymns, I say. I thought I would have That One about the Knight and his Spurs, I say. Or possibly Abba, I say.

I am not Applying it Anywhere, says the Owner, I am Wiping the Wall, says the Owner. There is Blood All Over It, says the Owner.

There is, I say. The Moral Dog is Weak from Hypovolaemia, I say. I think perhaps both verses of the Winner Takes it All, I say.

I have never seen so Little Blood go so Far, says the Owner. It is like a Jackson Pollock, says the Owner.

You do not seem to be Taking This Seriously, I say. The Moral Dog is in the process of Shuffling off this Mortal Coil and you are Sponging the Paintwork, I say. He has even chosen Abba, I say.

If I do not Do It Now it will not Come Off, says the Owner.

By the Time you have Done It, I say, You maybe Too Late to say Goodbye, I say. Perhaps I should Sing the First Verse, I say. To Get you in the Mood, I say.

I doubt it would Get me in the Mood, says the Owner. The Moral Dog is making a Mountain out of a Molehill, says the Owner. He has Happy Tail, says the Owner. That is All, says the Owner.

Happy Tail? I say. I would hate to see a Sad Tail, I say. Some Fiendish Creature must have Done It to Me, I say. It was Probably a Squirrel, I say. The Moral Dog’s Tail is Leaking, I say. His Entire contents are now likely to escape, I say.

It is Less than a Spoonful, says the Owner.

A Spoonful? I say. I have seen some Enormous Spoons, I say. The Fading is Speeding Up, I say. Promise me you will Seek out the One who Did this to your Moral Dog and Forgive Them, I say. Even if it is a Squirrel, I say.

The Moral Dog did it to Himself, says the Owner. It is Self Inflicted, says the Owner. From Wagging, says the Owner.

The Moral Dog feels a chill of Memory. I cannot help the Wagging, I say. I expected a little More Sympathy, I say. Or Any Sympathy At All, I say. And a bit of Abba, I say. You could Harmonise, I say, I will Do the Top Part, I say.

Wagging, says the Owner. Perfidiously, says the Owner. At Another Owner, says the Owner. With Blonde Hair, says the Owner. And a Cheese Sandwich, says the Owner. The Moral Dog has never had Happy Tail from Wagging at Me, says the Owner. Even though he has his Own Fridge, says the Owner. And all of the Cheese, says the Owner. Isle of Mull Cheddar, says the Owner.

The Moral Dog has the Cloth and is Wiping the Wall. He may have to give the Owner some of his Cheese.

Categories: dignity dog dog philosophy

Hergest the Hound

I am a dog of many thoughts.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: